The Coming Wave
by mickeylovesian
Summary: Shameless AU/ Set after 3x12. Ian gets off the bus. Mickey finds him on New Years and the go from there. Note: Each chapter was orginally it's own piece of a series so the story jumps ahead in time from anywhere between a few days to a few months from each chapter. Switches between Mickey and Ian's POV
1. A Long December

A Long December Part 1

It had been two weeks since Mickey had been unable to tell Ian not to leave. Christmas had come and passed. As always it had been a grand affair at the Milkovich household. Svetlana, tired of Terry's drunk advances had gone to spend the night at some other whore's house, and Mandy for some reason had left to go their Aunts. Mickey and his brothers got high and had watched _A Christmas Story_, as their father lay passed out on the couch. The only thing that had gotten Mickey through the "family time" was knowing that Ian had gotten off the bus.

He had tortured himself for three days over his inability to tell the boy the one thing he had wanted to hear. He was constantly switching between anger at the fuckheads failure to comprehend that to admit to his feelings would be dangerous and self-hatred for pushing away the one person who brought him the littlest bit of happiness in his fucked up life.

Then Mandy had cornered him in the kitchen and told him that Ian had changed his mind and gotten off the bus. "Now stop being such a fucking pussy and go to him," she had said before he shoved past her, six pack in his hand to go get drunk in his room. He hadn't gone though, and Ian had not tried to contact him either.

Now, as the clock on the cable box flipped to 11:24 pm, Mickey got off the couch and grabbed his coat. "Where are you going?" Svetlana asked him. Mickey flinched; her thick Russian accent always sounded like nails on a chalkboard, nothing like the sweet sound of the redhead's voice.

"None of your goddamn business," he growled. He put on his boots and looked at his _wife_ on the couch. He had a hard time remembering that none of this was really her fault. He softened his tone and said, "I have something I need to do."

"Will you be back by midnight? I don't want to be alone for the New Year."

"I don't know," He said, tying his boots and walking to the door. "See ya."

Mickey stepped out into the cold. There had been a huge snowstorm just after Christmas, and it was snowing again. The streets of the Southside were deserted, most people anxiously awaiting for the ball to drop in their warm homes. He thought about going to the Gallagher household, but once again, decided against it. Instead he walked in the opposite direction. There were only two places he wanted to go, and both contained the ghosts of his past. He decided to go to the baseball field, which at least held happy memories of a warm summer night.

Mickey squeezed himself through the hole in the fence. The city had stopped repairing it earlier that summer after someone (Mickey) kept reopening it. He checked his phone: 11:37. He only had twenty minutes left of what had been the best and shittiest year of his life. He had almost reached the dugouts when he heard the sound of a beer being cracked open. His eyes scanned the darkness, finally landing on an outline of lying on the bench. Whoever was there hadn't noticed him yet. Mickey figured it was just some bum and was about to turn around and head back home when something stopped him. He walked over to the steps, his heart beating in his throat.

"Hey."

Ian shot up, spilling his beer all over his coat. Mickey couldn't help but grin as the redhead squinted into the darkness at him. "Mickey?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" Mickey asked, regretting his tone already. He walked down the steps so that he could see the boy more clearly. For a moment Mickey saw the face that had been so happy to see him that day under the bleachers. As his eyes adjusted, however, he saw Ian's face change from surprise to anger, the same stone cold face that had left him speechless two weeks earlier. "Did I scare you?"

"No. A little. What do you want? Why are you here?" Ian asked, taking a sip of what was left of his beer. Mickey rubbed his chin and put his hand in his coat pockets. He stared at the younger boy for a few seconds before answering.

"I don't know, just had to get out of the house for a bit. What about you? Thought you were getting your ass blown to shit in some fucking-stan."

"Nope," Ian said, downing his beer. He didn't go on, so Mickey shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other.

"Shouldn't you be home then? With your family; it's a holiday," Mickey said, sitting down on the bench, a few feet between the two of them. As soon as he sat down, Ian got up, and walked over to grab another beer which was cooling in the snow.

"House was too crowded. I just needed some air," Ian said, turning around two beers in his hands. Mickey was a bit surprised by this, and just stared at Ian as he took the beer from his outstretched hand.

"Thanks man," Mickey said, cracking it open. Ian sat back down, a little closer than he had been before.

"Plus, New Years is hardly a holiday. I hate it."

"Why?"

"Well, first, you always have these huge expectations for how much fun it will be, and then you end up just getting shitfaced in your living room or someone's basement. And, if you even end up making it to midnight, it's so anticlimactic," Ian said, sullenly. "And, just the fucking idea that a new year could change everything is such bullshit. Nothing changes here. Plus, I hate that song."

"Such a positive outlook," Mickey said jokingly.

"Yeah well, there is nothing to be positive about," Ian said, glaring at Mickey. Mickey didn't say anything, and Ian pulled a joint out of his coat pocket. "Want some?"

"I never turn down free weed," Mickey said with a smile.

They smoked the joint in silence. They had been sitting there for what felt like an eternity when Mickey found the balls to ask the question he had wanted to know for two weeks, "Why did you get off the bus?"

"It had nothing to do with you."

"I didn't think it did," Mickey lied. He had been hoping since the day he found out that Ian had decided to get off the bus that it meant that Ian was working on coming to terms with the new arrangement—his marriage.

"I just realized I was making a huge mistake. I mean, I only have a semester left of high school, I might as well do it legally. No use fucking up my life just to avoid six months of waiting."

"So you're still going to go?" Mickey asked, swallowing a huge gulp of beer to avoid the growing pit in his stomach.

"You still married?"

"Fuck off. I didn't choose to get married. You're fucking choosing to put your life at risk."

"I'm choosing to fight for my fucking country, something I believe in," Ian said, getting angry.

"Calm down man. I don't want to argue, I just think it's stupid," Mickey said.

"Yeah, well you're stupid."

"Good one."

"So, when is your wife due?"

"What?"

"Your commie wife, when is she having the baby?"

"Oh, yeah she ain't knocked up. I just told Mandy that so she would stop asking questions, which is pointless now that you couldn't keep your fucking mouth shut. You are so lucky my brothers didn't hear you," Mickey said.

"Sorry about that," Ian said.

"No you're not."

"Yeah, Mick, I am. I didn't mean to out you to Mandy, I was just so angry that you married her," Ian said. "I still am."

"Did you really expect me to fucking back out of it? Do you know what my dad would have done to me if I walked in there and told everyone it was off?"

"I've learned not to expect anything from you anymore," Ian said, getting up to get another beer. Instead of sitting back down on the bench he sat on the steps. They held eye contact and were silent, each trying to read the other's face.

"Fuck Gallagher," Mickey said, breaking both the silence and the redhead's gaze. "It's not like you ain't fucked married dudes before. You didn't seem to have a problem when it was Towelhead or Grandpa. Is it because I didn't fucking buy you pretty things?"

"Fuck off Mickey, you know I never cared about that shit. It's different," Ian said. "You were different."

In that moment, Mickey wanted to tell him everything. How for the past two years he had been the only good part of his life, how he felt he was a better person just by knowing him, and how empty he had felt since he hadn't been able to ask him to stay. But these feelings were quickly squashed and replaced by anger. Once again Ian was laying all the blame on him. How could he still not see that Mickey had had no choice? Anger was pulsing through him, but managed to calm himself down before responding.

"You know what? You're right. It is different. Both of them married their wives without the threat of death hanging over them. If you think I wanted to marry her then you're a fucking idiot. It's not like it was my idea. There is nothing I can do about it. It's not like I did it to-" Mickey stopped. "It's not like I did it to hurt you."

"Your dad is a fucking psyc-" Ian started, but Mickey interrupted him.

"You think I don't know that? Jesus, man. Don't you get it? This isn't some fucking fairytale. We can't just skip off into the sunset." Mickey could feel the tears behind his eyes, but he wouldn't let himself cry. He had done enough of that.

"It didn't have to end like this."

"It didn't have to fucking end at all. I told you we could still bang,"

"Was that all I was? After everything I'm still just a warm mouth?"

"Fucking Christ!" Now Mickey was mad. He threw his empty beer can on the ground and walked to the other side of the dugout. He tried to put as much space between the two of them before he snapped. "That's not what I fucking mean."

"Then what do you fucking mean? Just for once tell me how you fucking mean!"

"What the fuck do you want from me? You're right. I'm married. There's nothing I can do about that for now."

"Nothing," Ian said quietly, after a few minutes. "I don't want anything from you. Not anymore. I get it. You're not a bitch, or a fag, you can't blurt out how you feel. I'm not your boyfriend, never was."

Mickey paced back and forth a few times before walking to the steps and sitting next to Ian. "What I meant," he started, but stopped himself. _You can do this_, he thought. He took a deep breath, put his hand on Ian's knee and continued. "What I meant was that we could still be together. It might not be to you, but to me it is just a piece of paper. I'm not fucking her, I can't even sleep under the same blankets as her. I was willing to risk my fucking dad finding out again."

Ian put his hand on top of his and Mickey could feel all the blood in his body rush to meet Ian's cold hand, and it felt good. They sat there silently for a few minutes before Ian spoke, "You could have at least told me not to go."

"Would you have stayed?"

"I got off the bus didn't I?"

They sat next to each other in silence, their hands still touching. Mickey looked Ian and they held each other's gaze as if they were trying to tell each other everything they couldn't say. Then suddenly, Ian looked away and moved his hand. Mickey knew in that moment that not all was forgiven. They wouldn't just pick up where they left off. He checked his phone; it was 12:21. They had talked through the New Year. He pointed this out and added "Happy New Year man."

"Fuck off," Ian said with a smile.

"Hey, that's my line," Mickey said and Ian laughed.

"It's been a pretty shitty year," Ian said, taking another joint out of his pocket.

"Not all of it," Mickey said, glancing at the redhead, who nodded in agreement. "And hey, maybe this year will be better than the last."

"Did you just quote the Counting Crows?" Ian asked incredulously. "That was pretty gay if you ask me."

"Shut up. My mom used to sing it every New Years," Mickey said, looking at Ian out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, opened another beer and leaned back onto the dugout wall. As Ian lit the joint, Mickey closed his eyes, breathing in the cold air. Even if Ian hadn't forgiven him, Mickey was happy. He knew he would be happy as long as he could be in Ian's presence. As they passed the joint back and forth, Mickey swore he could feel Ian's eyes on him, yet every time he checked, Ian was staring straight at the dugout walls.

Ian's phone rang on the bench, bringing them back to reality. "It's Fiona," he said before answering. All Mickey could hear was music blasting in the background. "Hey, Fi."

"Ian Clayton Gallagher where are you?" Mickey heard Fiona yell over the music, sounding intoxicated. He stifled a laugh at his middle name. In the two years they had been whatever they were Mickey had never thought to ask Ian's middle name. "You missed the ball drop!"

"Yeah, sorry," Ian said. "I'll be home soon."

"See if you can find an open store, Frank showed up so we are almost out of beer," Fiona said. Ian complied, said goodbye and hung up.

"Clayton?" Mickey said teasingly.

"It's not that bad," Ian said with a smile. "Your middle name so much better?"

"Don't have one. Pretty amazing we have names at all given my parents were probably so fucked up at the time," Mickey said. When he had been in kindergarten he had asked his mom why he didn't have a middle name. She had lit a cigarette, shrugged and told him it had been hard enough to think name the fifth boy, let alone come up with a useless middle name.

"I should probably go," Ian said. As Ian stood up, Mickey looked at his phone: 12:41. Although they had only been there for an hour, it had seemed like an entire year had passed by. Mickey stood, crushed the beer can in his hand and dropped it on the ground.

"Yeah, it's fucking freezing," Mickey said. The truth was, however, sitting next toIan, Mickey hadn't felt warmer in weeks. "I think my left foot is numb."

They walked together in silence until they got to the corner of Ian's street. As they stopped under the flickering street light, Ian turned to face Mickey. "So, I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah," Mickey said looking down at his shoes. As they stood there, Mickey wondered what they would look like to anyone looking out their windows. Two guys, one almost a foot taller, standing awkwardly on a street corner. It could easily be mistaken as a drug deal; no one else had to know the truth. Then, as Ian turned and began to walk to his house, Mickey suddenly felt jealous. There Ian was, going home to a warm house full of people who loved him, and all Mickey had was a family held together by the bonds of being raised by a psycho and a cold marriage bed. In that moment something clicked.

"Ian!" The boy stopped dead at the sound of his name coming out of Mickey's mouth. He turned around. Neither moved towards each other; instead they stood, half a block apart, waiting. Finally, Mickey found what he had been trying to say all night, "I'm glad you got off the bus."

"Yeah, me too," Ian said. Mickey could see a slight smile on his face as he raised his hand to say goodbye before continuing down the street.

Mickey came home to a dark house. He maneuvered his way from the entryway, through the messy living room and to his bedroom with ease. As he climbed into bed, all of a sudden too tired to even take off his wet jeans, he felt Svetlana stir.

"Mickey?" she asked sleepily.

"Yup," He said, laying his head on his pillow.

"Happy New Year," she said before rolling back over.

"Yeah, Happy New Year." He faced the wall, closed his eyes, and told himself, as he did every night, that it was Ian lying next to him. He couldn't help but think that something important had just occurred between the two of them. He had no idea what was in store for them; if Ian would come be able to come to terms with how things were now. He still might not be able to tell Ian everything he wanted to hear—what he wanted to be able to tell him more than anything—but he knew that he had taken the first step. It had been a long December for the two of them, a long year, and Mickey knew that there was still a long way to go to fix whatever they had, if it could even be fixed, but now, more than ever before, he believed in those lyrics and the idea that this year would be better than the last.


	2. Time For That

Mickey would never forget the day he found out. It was Tuesday, March 16th at 11:07 in the morning. The sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm for Chicago, at 64 degrees. It would go down in his memory as one of the happiest days of his life.

It had a month earlier when he had woken up to banging on his door and his four brothers barging into his room making Svetlana scream and Mickey grab the tire iron he had kept by his bed for two years.

"Dad's been arrested," Jamie said. They kept talking, but Mickey had stopped listening. He remembers snippets of the conversation: something about forging prescriptions for oxy, lawyers, arraignment. Mickey didn't care. He didn't even know why his brothers were freaking out; this wasn't even close to their father's first time in prison. His longest stint had been three years for armed robbery when Mickey had been seven.

Now, as he stared down at the text from Tony he felt happiness rush over him: "5 yrs. Min 3." Three years. Three whole years without his father breathing down his neck, and knowing his father, it was possible that he would end up serving the entire sentence.

He stood up and was out of the house before he even realized where he was going, he was standing outside the high school. He had only one person he wanted to share this news with, and he wasn't sure he would be happy to see him.

Since they had parted on New Year's they had seen each other a handful of times. Mostly it was random run-ins, but soon Mickey found himself seeking Ian out. Twice, Mickey had gone to the store to get some beer and had ended up staying for an hour and a half, helping Ian restock the shelves. Of course he had complained the entire time, but in truth there had been no place else he would have rather been.

Ian had remained a bit distant for a few weeks, but Mickey could tell he was coming around. They were on their way to becoming friends again, if they had ever really been friends before.

He walked through the doors and was immediately stopped by the security guard, a big white guy with blond hair and a creepy mustache. "Milkovich you know you can't be on campus unless you're a student."

"What's up Ricky? I've decided to come back to school," Mickey said, and the security guard let out a loud laugh. "Yeah, ok. How about this: you let me through I'll have Iggy hook you up with a deal next time?"

"Half off?"

"Sure," Mickey said. Greedy cokehead prick. Iggy was not going to be happy about losing $200 bucks.

"Alright, but you gotta go through the metal detectors. And if you're caught you don't know me."

"Whatever, thanks man," Mickey said. The halls were empty; he looked at his phone but then realized he had no clue what time the classes changed. He wandered around a bit, ducking into the bathroom when he saw a teacher. There was a kid in there who automatically turned white when he noticed Mickey. He laughed to himself as the kid scurried out just as the bell rang.

Mickey made his way back into the hall and was just going to continue to walk when he heard his name. "Mickey?" He turned around to see Mandy and one of her dumb friends, who smiled sweetly at him. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Oh, uh,"

"Go on, I'll meet you at lunch," she said to her friend. She turned to face Mickey.

"Dad's been sentenced," he said quickly as her friend walked away.

"Yeah, I got the text."

"Oh well, I came down to tell you that."

"You're so full of shit," she said with the knowing smile that Mickey hated and started to walk away. Over her shoulder she added, "He has government this period, room 218."

By the time Mickey found the classroom he could see Ian already seated in the 3rd row. He stood at the window trying to get his attention and after a few minutes he succeeded. He saw Ian's face change from boredom to complete shock. Somehow he managed to excuse himself from the classroom.

"What are you doing here?" Ian asked when he stepped outside.

"My dad's been sentenced to five years, I wanted to celebrate," Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders.

"With me?"

"Who else?"

"I have school."

"So?"

"Meet me outside in an hour."

They found their way to the abandoned building, avoiding the ghosts that lived there, and settled on the roof to enjoy the afternoon. Ian had stopped at the store to grab beer and some snacks while Mickey had gone home to grab the weed; they were stocked for a few good hours of fun.

"So why did you come for me?" Ian asked.

"I don't know, figured it would be nice to celebrate with someone who hates my dad as much as me. Hand me the Pringles," Mickey said, lighting a cigarette. "And a beer."

"What's the magic word?"

"Suck my dick?" Ian was not amused. "Alright, please. Thanks."

"So your dad's really gone for five years?" Ian asked, shaking the crumbs of the Pringles jar into his hand.

"I mean, he's gotta serve at least three years, but knowing him he'll end up stabbing someone and have to stay for the full term," Mickey said.

"Here's hoping," Ian said raising his can.

They had been there for around three hours when all of a sudden, Ian started laughing. They had smoked a good amount of weed and had almost finished off a twelve pack between the two of them. Ian's laugh, deep and genuine, brought a smile to Mickey's face; he hadn't realized just how much he had missed it that winter.

"What's so funny?" Ian couldn't respond he was laughing too hard. "Jesus how high are you?"

Finally he was able to start laughing enough to say, "Do you realize what we're doing?"

"What?"

"We're pretty much having a picnic," Ian said and dissolved into another laughing fit. Mickey was confused as to why this was so funny until he remembered the previous summer when he had made fun of Ian and that fucking perv.

"We are not on a picnic," Mickey said defiantly.

"All we need is a basket and a blanket. Too bad the stars aren't out," Ian said.

"Fuck off, Gallagher," Mickey said with a smile. "Looks like you got what you wanted then."

Ian stopped laughing and was silent. He took out a cigarette and lit it, and offered it to Mickey. "I never wanted any of that stuff, you know that right Mickey?"

"What are you talking about," Mickey asked. He had a sense of where the conversation was heading. In all the time they had seen each other since New Year's they had kept the conversation light. The thought of a serious conversation made Mickey's head spin; he was too high for this.

"All that shit you used to joke about: stars, picnics, skipping off into the sunset. I never wanted any of that. I never expected that," Ian explained. Mickey didn't respond so Ian continued: "I'm not an idiot Mick. I know we can't hold hands and walk down the street or kiss in a bar. I never needed the world to know about us. I just wanted to be with you. To know how you felt about me."

"You would have wanted that shit eventually," Mickey said, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Maybe, but I didn't want it then. I just wanted you," Ian said, taking the cigarette of Mickey's mouth.

"Are you going to leave your wife? Now that Terry is in jail?" Mickey had been dreading this question. Ian had put up with a lot from Mickey over the years; juvie, insults, beatings and he knew that deep down all of these offenses put together would be easier to forgive than his marriage.

"Listen," Mickey started. "She wants to be a US citizen, and in order for that to happen we have to be married for like three years or something. I don't know. We had an interview with some immigration person. Three years."

"Minimum," Ian said with a smirk. Mickey flashed back to them standing in his room months earlier. They hadn't talked about Ian enlisting after graduation and Mickey didn't mind. He would rather have Ian tell him details about sex with that viagroid than talk about him leaving again. "So you're really going to stay married to a whore?"

"She's not that bad. Can barely understand a fuckin word she says but besides that. It could be worse. Could be some bitch who don't know the truth. Plus, she's barely ever around. I think she has some Ruski boyfriend," Mickey said, but he realized it was the wrong thing to say. Ian got up and walked over to the ledge of the building. He leaned against the wall and threw his beer can off. Mickey got up and followed him over. He put his hand on Ian's should. "Gal-Ian."

Ian turned to face him, his eyes brimming with tears. Mickey had never seen him this upset before—angry, yes, but not sad enough to cry in front of him. Mickey didn't even think before he reached up on his tiptoes and pulled the redhead's face to his own. Ian resisted a bit but soon gave in, running his hands through Mickey's hair and down back. Kissing Ian released an unexpected response in Mickey, and soon his own eyes were full of tears.

Mickey was about to take off Ian's shirt when the taller boy broke away. "I still need time. To get used to this all."

"Sure, yeah," Mickey said, rubbing his lip and walked to where the beer was. He looked Ian still standing by the edge. "We're almost out of beer."

"I'll go get some more," Ian said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, need another pack of cigs anyway."

After Ian came back, they continued to drink and smoke until after it got dark out, despite the dropping temperature. And if as the sun set and the stars came out, Mickey thought about how he could get used to lying under dark skies, he certainly didn't say anything. They had time for that.


	3. Just Enough

Ian rolled over and looked at the clock 7:47 am. He couldn't remember what had woken him, but he was thankful for it. He had been having the same dream that had been plaguing him for the past few months: _"No son of mine is gonna be a goddamn AIDS monkey." _He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. That's when he heard it: the bed squeaking in the next room. He was sure if he listened closely he would be able to hear the moans of his brother and best friend through the thin walls. He banged on the wall and heard Mandy's giggle and Lip say, "Stop listening perv!"

Ian sighed and got out of bed. He looked at Carl asleep on the top bunk and Liam sitting quietly in his crib. "Eeen" Liam said happily as Ian lifted him out of the crib.

"Morning little dude," Ian said, placing him on the ground to change his diaper.

"Hungy," Liam said when Ian was finished. Just then Fiona quietly opened the door.

"Oh sorry, did he wake you?"

"No. couldn't sleep with all the noise," Ian said nodding to the wall.

"Christ I know. I know she's your friend and all but the bitch has to keep it down," Fiona said. She picked up Liam and brought him downstairs. Ian grabbed his CD player and got back into bed. He turned the volume up to drown out the sounds.

He was happy for Lip; finally after all the shit that happened between him Mandy and Karen, Lip finally seemed happy with Mandy. Mandy, of course, had never been happier. He couldn't hate them, even if they had woken him up at 8:00 on a Sunday morning. Despite that, and he would never admit it to anybody, he was jealous, not only of them, but of Fiona—when Jimmy had been around, Kev and V, and anyone else who was able to spend the night lying next to the person they loved.

He thought of Mickey, a few blocks away, asleep in his bed with his wife and automatically felt sick to his stomach. He resisted the strong urge to punch a hole in his wall and closed his eyes. Ian was trying to be ok with the situation; he was more used to it than he had been months before, but it still hurt knowing that Mickey was lying next to some commie skank instead of him.

When he had gotten off the bus that cold December day he had sworn to himself that he was done with Mickey. No matter how easily he avoided him, how many nights he spent looking for solace with other guys, he couldn't get him off his mind.

Then, on New Year's, when he had wanted nothing more than to be alone, Mickey had found him at the fields. They had talked, not about everything, but it had been a start. Ian was sure that nothing had changed, but Mickey had made an effort to communicate, the least Ian could do was listen.

Things started slowly; not actively avoiding each other, they began to run into one another. Mickey later admitted, although he had been drunk and never brought it up again, that he had actually begun to seek him out. They talked more in those first few weeks than they had in almost two years of sleeping together. Mickey still hadn't told Ian what he wanted to hear, but Ian didn't hold it against him. He knew that he couldn't force him into saying anything, but that he would say it in his own time. And as time went on he began to understand, better than he ever had, that Mickey didn't need to say anything. He had already told Ian everything he needed to through his actions. He might not have been able to stop him, but he had been able to find him.

They began to hang out, first at the store, or the abandoned buildings. Once Terry went back to jail, they began to spend time at Mickey's house, when Svetlana wasn't there, which was often. It was awhile before Ian could bring himself to even go into the bedroom, but with everything else, he adjusted.

"It's only three years," Mickey always reminded him. He had explained to Ian that Svetlana and him had agreed, secretly of course, that once she officially became a US citizen, they would get divorced. Ian found peace in this knowledge, although he did often bring up the fact that the time would go by quicker if he enlisted. Mickey had given him a dead leg the first few times he brought it up, but now kept quiet. The thought of enlisting was still always in the back of his brain, but he knew that with Jimmy gone off who knows where, and Lip busy with classes at the University of Chicago, they needed Ian's help.

They made no promises for the future; instead they took each day as it came. Ian knew that all relationships had problems and if he needed a reminder all he had to do was look at Fiona, who had been covering her pain for months of Jimmy leaving, or Lip, somehow accepting what Mandy did. He might decide to enlist, might change his mind about being willing to wait the three years. Mickey might decide that they weren't worth the always present threat of Terry, even in jail. Maybe he never would be able to be honest with himself and continue to live a lie. Ian didn't know if they would make it, but he tried not to think about endings; instead he focused on the good times they were able to share.

Lip popped his head in the door and Ian paused the CD. "Sorry if we woke you. We're gonna wake and bake, wanna join?"

"Sure," Ian said, getting up and following Lip into his room. Mandy was putting her shirt on and lying in bed. She smiled and began to roll a joint. Ian sat down on the bed, another surge of jealousy racing through him.

He was fine with how things were with Mickey. They were closer than they had ever been and he was happy. He loved Mickey, and he knew, even without the words that Mickey loved him too. Sometimes, however, Ian wanted something more than hidden exchanges, quickies in backrooms, and the continuous fear that it would all fall apart again. He wanted morning sex, wake and bakes, breakfast in bed. He wanted to fall asleep next to the man he loved and wake up next to in the morning, and everything in between.

His phone beeped. _Cant sleep. Bitch is snoring. U up? _Ian responded and quickly received another text: _Meet me at the spot. _Ian smiled, made excuses and went to get dressed.

Fifteen minutes later as he opened the door to the roof to see Mickey standing at the edge smoking a cigarette, the early morning May sunshine surrounding him, Ian smiled. He may want more, but for now, this was just enough.


End file.
